Lord of the Risk
by The X-Piig
Summary: The two geekiest people on Earth have effectively become the two geekiest people in Middle-Earth, joining a particularly skewed version of the fellowship on their ring-destroying excursion. Quest. Nuncle. Whatever. And for the love of Sméagol, R&R!
1. Enter the Death Armies

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TITLE: Lord of the Risk  
  
AUTHOR: The X-Piig  
  
RATING: PG for dirty mouths and minds  
  
SUMMARY: Fun and games with the two geekiest people alive. Impending LotR/Classic Star Wars/X-Files/Matthew Good Band Crossover. And all my apologies.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I own very little. Among this pitiful stash be the characters Magnolia Grey and Ashley Hobbes who are, VERY UNFORTUNATELY, based on non- fictional counterparts. May something have mercy on us all. As for the rest… they belong to all the non-me's of the world. I do, however, own a Risk board.  
  
FEEDBACK: R/R or I'll geek you to death. Actually, I'll probably do that either way.  
  
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LORD OF THE RISK  
  
Magnolia Grey looked in horror upon what she and her companion Ashley Hobbes had created. She was aghast, to say the least, and more than aware of the sheer WRONGNESS of the situation. In lieu of rectifying it, however , she opted instead to harass said companion.  
  
"Do you realize what this means?" she asked.  
  
"What?"  
  
"We are the geekiest people alive."  
  
"And how," said Ashley, hanging his head in shame.  
  
Before them lay the object of disapproval: a Risk board, but not just any Risk board. Instead of a map of the world, this board featured an accurate map of Middle-Earth, circa the last years of the Third Age. It was divided into 40 ridiculously tiny territories… ridiculously tiny both because there's only so much room on your typical map of Middle-Earth, and because they picked an unneccessarily small piece of cardboard on which to draw it.  
  
"Well, that was poorly planned," said Magnolia.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"I… don't know. Either way, I blame this entirely on you, Ash. And I'd like to take this opportunity to announce that I hate you very, very much."  
  
"I hate you too, Mag."  
  
"Right then. Let's play us some RISK."  
  
"Yar," exclaimed Ashley, despite the sentence's marked lack of an exclamation mark.  
  
Magnolia sat down and promptly claimed the "black death" set of armies. Though her usual pre-game announcement usually consisted of her declaring herself to be the reincarnation of Hitler, she was forced this time to settle for lowering her voice an octave and starting off on an "I am the Dark Lord Sauran" tangent, rabid mouth foam spraying all the while. Ashley pointed out that Sauron didn't actually refer to himself as "Sauron" or "El Dark Lord-o" for that matter, and Magnolia spent the next few minutes trying to force a handful of tiny black cannons up his left nostril.  
  
"Shall we begin, then?" Ashley proposed, tightening the ropes binding Magnolia to her chair.  
  
"In-deed. Pick an army, ass," said Magnolia, distractedly trying to free herself using her non-existent powers of telekinesis.  
  
"I pick 'action figure death'," he replied, revealing his secret weapon/additional source of amusement.  
  
"Hold on just one con-sarn minute here…"  
  
"I believe I asked you not to use the expression 'con-sarn' anymore."  
  
Vehemently shaking her fist, Magnolia ignored this and continued her diatribe, "…I get the distinct feeling there's something amiss concerning your choice of army colour. What's your ruse, con-sarnit?"  
  
"Did I mention I hate you?"  
  
"And how. Now state your ruse! *GASP* Sweet Jesus! Those aren't Risk pieces, they're… they're…" Magnolia stuttered in utter horror and unintentional dramatic effect.  
  
"Star Wars action figures! HUZZAH!" cried Ashley, promptly falling off his chair.  
  
Having finally untied, unchained, unstraight-jacketed and unboothed (like uncaged… but with a booth… really, it's a word… I swear) herself, Magnolia denounced her El Dark Lord-o position as leader of the "Black Death" armies of Middle-Earth, and scampered off down a hallway, the existence of which Ashley had previously been completely unaware of.  
  
"That's odd," he said, "seeing as I live here and all."  
  
However, his life motto being "meh", he shrugged and happily began to place his armies on random places on the map, knowing full well that Magnolia was entirely too rabid to notice he rampant cheating. He considered it some malicious form of revenge for the last game, which she had destroyed in the final moments of his victory by spreading peanut butter on Eastern Australia and attempting to eat the board. She would have to pay for that, he decided, but good.  
  
"And how," said Magnolia, simultaneously practising her supposedly non-existent skills of telepathy and teleportation.  
  
"Stop that."  
  
"Hmmmm…. no."  
  
She sat down again, and Ashley noticed for the first time she was holding a pair of scissors and the Matthew Good Band issue of Argle magazine. And suddenly it all became horrifyingly clear.  
  
"You wouldn't," said he.  
  
"I would," said she, raising the magazine above her head a la something vaguely biblical and epic, "and con sarnit I WILL! BEHOLD! I AM THE SLIGHTLY LESS DARK LORD-O OF THE "MATT GOOD DEATH" ARMIES!!!"  
  
Thus began the ridiculousness. 


	2. Out-Of-Body Dealies And The Like

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NOTES: To clear up any confusion, I'd like to point out that I and my characters are unashamed, nay, PROUD to be the geeks we are. I find both entertainment and strange satisfaction in constantly labelling myself "geeky". "Nerdy". "Nuncle". Whatever. I digress, however, and return you to this tale of high adventure and such. Just don't ask me to stop making up words. The English language just isn't diverse enough for my fanfic needs. And how.  
  
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"Who oh who will go firssst?" chanted Magnolia, placing the last of her misshapen Matt Good cutouts on the board.  
  
"I'm entirely too disgusted to even respond to that, much less roll the dice," Ashley pointed out.  
  
"Precioussss dicccce," Magnolia hissed.  
  
"Roll, Sméagol. Just roll."  
  
"…"  
  
"Mag… where are the dice?"  
  
"Uh…" she paused, trying desperately to hide the cubical (like spherical…you know, cube-shaped… fine then) bulges in her cheeks.  
  
"Third set of dice this week," Ash muttered, shaking his head in disgust.  
  
"These ones are crunchier," said Magnolia, and Ash's fist deprived his head of the shaking monopoly.  
  
"Yar. Good thing I have back-ups."  
  
"These ARE the back-ups. The originals were lemon-flavoured."  
  
"Fourth set of dice this week…"  
  
"Don't worry, I brought more --"  
  
"Thank god."  
  
"-- for dessert."  
  
"I'll kill you."  
  
With this, Ashley drew his butter knife, Oofa, The Butter Knife That Was Slightly Bent And Now Re-Straightened , and wrestled Magnolia to the ground. Magnolia pointed out that it WAS a pretty good drawing, although the serrated edge could use some additional shading. Ashley paused from his display of aggression long enough to curse the narrator for using cheap word-trick gags, then returned with zeal to attacking his companion and long-time Risk opponent. She, in turn, asked him why exactly he had wrestled her to the ground in the first place. Ashley, being not entirely sure why himself, got up and tearfully set fire to his precious drawing.  
  
"Why'd you do that, Ash?" Magnolia asked through a mouthful of dice, peanut butter, and "green death" armies.  
  
"I… don't know. Hey, and leave 'green death' alone, dammit!"  
  
Magnolia then prepared to counter this with a particularly clever zinger, in doing so allowing a small, treacherous green cannon to become lodged in her trachea, thereby destroying an hope of oxygen intake in the near future. Oblivious to this rather predictable turn of events, Ashley continued to mourn his loss of butter knife rendering, setting up a small shrine composed entirely of celery sticks and X-Files trading cards.  
  
Meanwhile, Magnolia was in the midst of the obligatory pre-Heimlich maneuver out-of-body experience. She's quickly gotten bored of watching herself die, soon moving on to the stage in which one meets various celestial beings, who will answer every question ever designed or asked, only to later replace one's memory of said encounter with an image of George Bush and Stockwell Day smoking endless cigars in a room full of leprechauns.  
  
Halfway through this thoroughly engaging conversation, a wayward pigeon just happened to find it's way through the plumbing of Ashley's house, eventually rocketing out of the drain in the kitchen sink, rebounding off the ceiling fan and onto Magnolia's stomach. In this way was the tiny "green death" cannon ejected from her windpipe, allowing her to grudgingly return to the world of the living. The gamepiece itself had, by some ridiculous form of ectoplasmosis (like osmosis, dammit, OSMOSIS WITH ECTOPLASM!), become charged with a small amount of the celestial beings' Celestial Being-o Power Dealie. Thus, as came into contact with several key objects in the room during it's pinball-esque five-second journey, strange things began to happen.  
  
Yes. Stranger even than the events that had already transpired that evening, impossible as that may seem. For the objects affected were as follows: Ashley's ever-threatening "Action Figure Death" armies, Magnolia's troops of deformed Matt Good cutouts, the X-Files trading cards acting as flimsy pillars in Ashley's Oofa Shrine, and the Middle-Earth Risk board, where the cannon came at last to rest.  
  
"Good lord," gasped Ashley, backing away from the newly Power Dealie'd cannon, "what have you done, Mag? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE??"  
  
"Funny you should ask that, because –"  
  
"AAAAAIIIEEEE!" screamed Ash in a notably feminine manner, which he would later claim was the fault of the unrecorded and entirely unproven affects of Dimensional Vortices on the male body's testosterone levels.  
  
It probably had more to do with the giant carnivorous Middle-Earth Risk board which had materialized in the center of the room. 


	3. El Council d'El Rond (clever, no?)

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NOTES: You will not BELIEVE how much fun I had with names in this chapter. Originally, Blockomir was to be Luke Skywomir... but I didn't have the heart to let him go over to the Dark Side. So instead... well, you'll see. Oh, you will see. SIDE NOTE: Hoorah for bootleg VCD's. Hoorah inDEED.  
  
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Upon being devoured by the aforementioned Giant Carnivorous Middle-Earth Risk Board Of Mass Destruction, Magnolia and Ashley found themselves falling rapidly through the airspace over Rivendell. Presently they came to a brief halt on the very roof under which a particularly skewed version of the Council of Elrond was underway at that very moment.  
  
"... hardly possible to separate you from him, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not," came Elrond's voice from within.  
  
"Samwise got in trou-ble, neener neener neeeener," sang Ashley.  
  
"What are you, six?" asked Magnolia.  
  
"Five, actually. Wait, shouldn't we be wondering what exactly is going on instead of making fun of supposedly fictional characters?"  
  
"Most likely, yes."  
  
However, the roof section they were sitting on chose that particularly inopportune instant to collapse beneath them, thereby hindering the continuation of this discussion, however enthralling. They were then deposited in the midst of an unnecessarily long table, and were soon made aware of the dozen or so pairs of eyes fixed on them. Ashley, upon observing this strange gathering with large amounts of interest and squinting, soon came the to conclusion that something was terribly, terribly amiss. Magnolia had since lost interest, however, and set about gnawing experimentally on the arm of a nearby elf.  
  
"Look, I had only ONE REQUEST," said Elrond, flailing his arms in a fairly recognizable gesture of exasperated disgust, "and that was that it NOT rain hobbit-y things during my council. Good lord, people, what part of the word `secret' do you not understand, anyway?"  
  
"Sec... ret?" said Magnolia, who had briefly abandoned her elf-gnawing in favour of more satisfying Halfelven-harassing activities.  
  
"One request. Just one..." muttered Elrond, shaking his head and shuffling dejectedly back to his seat.  
  
"Come now, Maggy and Ashlin! What are you up to, now, falling through Elrond's roof like that?" asked Frodo, seeming, strangely enough, to already know them.  
  
"I call it `elf-tasting', Frodo m'dear," began Magnolia, "you see - "  
  
"Con-sarnit Mag..." said Ashley, who then proceeded break large ceramic artifacts over his head, yelling, "AAAAARRRGH! I JUST SAID `CON-SARNIT'!!!! AAAAAARRRRGH!!!! I DID IT AGAIN!!! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD MAKE IT STOP!!! DAMN YOU, MAG!! DAMN YOU TO HELLLLLL!!!!"  
  
The majority of the council then wisely decided to put some amount of distance between themselves and the intruders, both of which were evidently quite unstable. Frodo and Sam, in an obvious effort to save their "friends'" already patchy reputations, hastily bound and gagged Ashley and Magnolia, using borrowed lengths of beard hair - still attached, of course, to a nearby Dwarf. The Dwarf, incidentally, protested far more than the detainees, who were currently attempting to alter each other's DNA using eyebrow movements alone. Elrond started to cry.  
  
"Thousands of years old, he is," observed Sam, "and thoroughly BORED TO TEARS."  
  
"COUNCIL MEMBERS," announced Frodo, further tightening Ash's gag, "may I introduce my, uh, ESTEEMED travelling companions, Magnoliadoc Brandygrey and Ashlegrin Tobbes - Maggy and Ashlin, as we often refer to them."  
  
Said companions were for the first time aware that they had, in fact, been transmogrified into hobbit-like hobbit dealies. "Mmmph," said Mag.  
  
"And how," said Edward Norton, who was prompty told he was on the wrong set.  
  
"What `set'?" asked Sam.  
  
"Never you mind," said Elrond, sniffling and adjusting his earpiece.  
  
"Uh... yes well, my dear hobbits Maggy and Ashlin," Frodo said, wisely changing the subject, "allow me to introduce YOU to the members of the Council of Elrond... that being the secret upon which you have... toppled. To my right are Bilbo and Glorfindel, with whom you are already familiar. With Glorfindel are the counsellors of Elrond's household.  
  
"Near them sits Scimli, the unusually fair and un-bearded Dwarf-daughter of Willóin, who sits at her side. The dark-haired elf whom she glares threateningly at ever so often is Muldolas, who has come as a messanger from his father, Willianduil... or maybe it's Spenduil. To be perfectly honest, nobody's quite sure who's King right now. Regardless, though... To Muldolas' right sits our worthy guide and protector, Matagood, son of Matathood, who, you will remember, helped lead us in safety from Bree to Rivendell. Cloaked in the corner is our good friend Obi-Grey Kandalfi, returned from his imprisonment at Isengard, as you both well know. A little apart from the rest of the company sits Blockomir, son of Foamethor, Lord of Minas Tirith in the South."  
  
"Maggy" and "Ashlin" sat still at last, entranced and agog. Perhaps even aghast. For "Scimli" was, in fact, Dana Scully... her being a Dwarf obviously a crude comment on her height by certain cruel fanfiction authors. And "Muldolas" was in fact Fox Mulder... with pointy ears. "Matagood", Matthew Good (of Matthew Good Band fame). "Obi-Grey Kandalfi", rather predictably, was indeed Obi-Wan Kenobi... with a ridiculously oversized beard. And "Blockomir"... well, Blockomir was a rectangular foam block with a happy face drawn on in washable marker.  
  
"Mph," said Ashley, and those present looked first to him, then to Elrond.  
  
"Make your own damn fellowship," said Elrond.  
  
Unfortunately, they did. 


	4. Bill The Landspeeder

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NOTES: Sorry this is so short. I wrote part of it in French class, the rest at 2am on a Saturday morning. Hence the incoherence... though I usually just blame that on it being written by me.  
  
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Not heretofore mentioned, of course, is the fact that Bill the pony had been replaced by Luke's landspeeder (a la "A New Hope"), also named Bill, after its cruel former owner, George "Bill" Lucas. Upon leaving Rivendell, the new-formed fellowship walked for several hours with Sam happily dragging said landspeeder behind him before Ash finally chewed through his quintuple gag and solid mithril muzzle and suggested they utilize Bill in a slightly different fashion.  
  
"And what `fashion' would THAT be," asked Sam indignantly.  
  
"It's supposed to hover," answered Ash, shying away from Matagood, who had retrieved another dozen cloth gags.  
  
"That would defy the laws of physics," sniffed Scimli.  
  
"In this line of work, the laws of physics rarely seem to apply," countered Muldolas.  
  
"Whoa. Déjà vu."  
  
"Fi... zicks?" asked Frodo, effectively killing their banter.  
  
"Mph," said Mag, being the resident former X-Files geek. She was holding up a crude wooden sign reading, "way to kill the banter, Baggins-o".  
  
"Quiet, you," warned Ash, ignoring the fact that she, too, had been quintuple-gagged and muzzled, and was therefore incapable of being anything BUT quiet.  
  
"Mph," mumbled Magnolia.  
  
"For f*ck's sake!" yelled Matagood, "use the christly thing already!"  
  
"That cannot be done," said Obi-Grey ominously.  
  
"Why?" asked the remaining companions in incredibly contrived unison.  
  
"I have misplaced the keys."  
  
Matagood flailed his arms in a particularly Elrond-esque manner, raving, "What about your goddamn secret fire dealie, f*cko?! USE THE EVERF*CKING FORCE!!"  
  
"Those I have also misplaced."  
  
"..."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"Goddamn useless JedIstari."  
  
Following this rather inane exchange, there was a silence broken only by the sounds of synchronized eyelid-blinking and the shuffling of a passing tumbleweed. At some point they came to the startling realization that this shuffling was not, in fact, caused by the suspected tumbleweed, but by Blockomir, who had become caught in a particularly strong draft and rolled off into the woods. Matagood cursed loudly and gave chase, while the others were content to remain on the path and make mildly entertaining yet wholly mind-boggling attempts at coherent conversating. Yes, conversating.  
  
"I can't believe you lost the keys, Kendalfi," said Frodo.  
  
"Gotcha! I have not, in fact, misplaced them at all! They were right here in my beard the entire time! Oh I am a funny one," chortled Obi-Grey merrily.  
  
"... hate... you..." drifted Matagood's voice from among the trees.  
  
"Clever, Kendalfi," said Scimli with the obligatory eye-roll.  
  
"And how," said the Wizard. Jedi. Nuncle. Whatever.  
  
It was then that Matagood returned with an unscathed yet badly traumatized Blockomir, and the fellowship again set out. In lieu of marching falteringly toward their eventual doom, they now chose a more efficient form of doom-bound transportation - that being, of course, Bill the trusty landspeeder. Mag was tucked securely into a small storage compartment, while the others piled into the various seats and areas provided. Obi-Grey amused himself by performing Jedi mind tricks on anyone who dared request he relinquish the keys, until the others resorted to beating him over the head with Blockomir and extracting said objects from his beard themselves.  
  
"Er... sorry," said Muldolas as he set Blockomir gently back on the ground.  
"..." replied Blockomir, whose face had already begun to wash off.  
  
"Don't say much, do he?" said Sam.  
  
"It is said," mused Obi-Grey, "that in Minas Tirith, he is known as Blockomir the Silent."  
  
The company paused, and looked at him blankly.  
  
"You just made that up, didn't you," Scimli pointed out.  
  
"Yes," said Kendalfi, "yes I did."  
  
"Can we just go?" pleaded Ash.  
  
"Yes," said Kandalfi, "yes we can."  
  
"Stop that," said Matagood.  
  
And go they did. 


	5. Weapons, Wargs and 'Whip It'

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NOTES: First of all, I haven't the slightest idea what guns Mulder and Scully carry, so I couldn't even effectively parody them. In attempting to do so, however, I have managed to rip of Baz Luhrman's "Romeo and Juliet"; thus I apologize once again. Also, I am thoroughly ashamed to admit that the "Whip It" bit was taken DIRECTLY from an ICQ conversation between me and Ash's real-life counterpart. Kinda makes you hate things, don't it?  
  
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That night, as they halted on their swift journey across Hollin, the company sat together in the dark, chatting idly and cleaning their various weapons. Sam held the blade he'd been given by Bombadil, while Frodo now possessed Bilbo's sword, Sting. It glowed in the presence of orcs; a quality made considerably less impressive by the lightsaber currently in the hands of Obi-Grey Kendalfi. Frodo was beginning to feel strangely inadequate, and spent most of the evening making rude gestures at the Wizard when his attention was elsewhere.  
  
Muldolas and Scimli, meanwhile, held pistols issued to them by their respective MBI (Mirkwood Bureau of Investigation) field offices. Muldolas' was a Bö42, while Scimli wielded her trusty Dwarrow AKS. Blockomir... well Blockomir -  
  
"Uh, Ash..." said Muldolas hesitantly.  
  
"What?" asked Ash, happily munching on a banana.  
  
"I think... you ate Blockomir's weapon."  
  
"... aw crap. So I did."  
  
Curiously, not one of them thought to wonder where Blockomir had managed to acquire an object as exotic and thoroughly out of place as said banana. Despite this scene's multiple continuity errors, however, it did contain a relatively vital revelation on Matagood's part. For he too possessed a lightsaber, and it was none other than Taturil, Flame of Tatooine. Thus it was named upon its reforging, despite the fact that none in Rivendell had the faintest idea what "Tatooine" meant.  
  
"Con-sarn these rampant crossover loopholes," muttered Ash.  
  
"Behold!" cried Matagood, "For I hold here the lightsaber which you saw before in Rivendell, broken, upon the table at our council. Now it has been reforged, renamed, and re-something-elsed, so's I can remove certain valuable body parts from certain Dark Lords." He then dissolved into fits of maniacal laughter.  
  
Obi-Grey then leaned over and hastily whispered into the ear of Matagood, who, in response, cursed yet again and shouted, "What do you MEAN he has no f*ckin valuable body parts to remove?! Where the F*CK is the fun in that?! GOD DAMMIT!!"  
  
"Uh... Matagood?" ventured Ash.  
  
"WHAT??!!!"  
  
"Why... is there a severed hand attached to your lightsaber?"  
  
Matagood then looked at the base of his weapon with an expression of confusion, obviously never having noticed this particular piece of evidence before. Under his breath he muttered, "Goddamn Skywalker punk couldn't even be bothered to CLEAN the thing before he passed it on, now COULD he."  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"Erm, I said, um... it's like a hood ornament, you see. A present from its former owner, you might say. A-harhar," Matagood chuckled nervously, then quietly added, "a present like a KICK IN THE FACE. How the heck am I supposed to get the f*cking thing off, anyway?"  
  
"What's a hood ornament?" asked Sam.  
  
"Well Sam, it occurs to me that I have absolutely NO idea what I'm talking about."  
  
"Ah."  
  
Just then, a commotion was heard nearby as Mag was finally able to use her carefully honed and relatively non-existent control over the Force to free herself from Bill's storage compartment. The company sighed and hung their heads in preparation for the oncoming ridiculousness. For Mag had, in fact, also managed to gnaw through twenty-seven cloth gags, a pair of solid mithril muzzles, a layer of plaster-of-paris thirteen centimetres thick and three of Obi-Grey's best mouth-binding spells.  
  
"Mag m'dear," said Ash, "in a past life, were you, by any chance, a rodent of some kind?"  
  
"Hold on, hold on, hold on," Mag rambled, effectively ignoring his perfectly rational question, "I got it..."  
  
"Oh god no..."  
  
"Wait wait, just listen, this is a good one: I said MATA..." she made a sound akin to that of a cracking whip, a la Devo's `Whip It' then continued, "Mata-GOOD! BAHAHA! OH GOD I'M FUNNY!"  
  
"Die," said Ash.  
  
"Gladly," replied Mag, who then chose that moment to spontaneously combust.  
  
"FOOLS!" screeched Kendalfi, "have I not TOLD you that lighting a fire would bring us danger, even in this empty land? The Wargs will be upon us at any moment now!!"  
  
"I'd like to point out that YOU'RE the one who's been brandishing around a ridiculously luminescent lightsaber for the past hour," said Scimli.  
  
"And I'D like to point out that I'm still on fire," said Mag, pausing briefly from her screaming circuit of their camp.  
  
"So you are," observed Ash dully.  
  
Having lost the interest of her audience, Mag quietly sat down and put herself out. Blockomir then returned from a relatively unnoticed absence with another, slightly bruised banana and several thin wound-lines drawn onto his face in RED magic marker. Propped at his side was a large piece of cardboard reading "Killed every Warg within a ten-mile radius, you lazy bastards. Happy now?" The fellowship nodded their assent, then promptly quarrelled over who got to use Blockomir as a pillow that night.  
  
"Neener neener neener," Mag taunted Ash as she tossed aside Blockomir's sign, which now read "I'll kill you, kill you all."  
  
"I hate you," said Ash, and the company slept at last. 


	6. Of Nelfs and Incompetence

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NOTES: Sorry this has taken so long. That bastard Kandalfi gave me writer's block, and I had to get Sméagol here to beat him up. And by "beat him up" I mean "gnaw on him a little". Sméagol's all with the gnawing. Anyhoo, here it is, and I'd like to point out that I haven't been able to get the whole "Nelf" exchange out of my head since I thought it up a couple days ago. I hope it's not contagious…  
  
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"Remind me again why we're descending to our doom in the treacherous depths of Moria," said Muldolas, rather snippily if this narrator does say so herself.  
  
"Maybe because certain hobbits just happened to press the large, red 'Incur The Wrath Of Caradhras' button on our way up the pass," explained Ash, conveying his own unnecessary snippiness. Snippity. Etc.  
  
"Ah"  
  
"Any luck getting that door open, Kandalfi?" asked Frodo, between rounds of submerging Mag's head in the dark lakewater.  
  
"Gurgle," said Mag.  
  
Obi-Grey held up a finger, signalling a request for silence. He then launched a pebble high in the air, watched intently its progression back toward the earth, then performed a fairly impressive baseball-style swing- and-miss using Blockomir as his bat.  
  
"Not as such," he then replied dejectedly, tossing Blockomir over his shoulder -- in doing so unknowingly knocking unconscious the huge, overdone Jules Verne rip-off of a lake monster looming up behind him.  
  
"Con-sarnit," said Scimli in disappointment, "and I was so hoping to visit the Gift Shop of Khazad-dûm."  
  
"Well, you would think tossing acorn-sized rocks at the thing for several hours would have done it," said Kandalfi, honestly perplexed by the entire ordeal.  
  
"Given any thought to a password, f*cko?" Matagood called from the large yellow rubber raft he'd been happily rowing around in since they arrived at the gate.  
  
"Not really. I'M still waiting for you to explain where you got that confounded raft," replied the Wizard.  
  
Rather than respond to this, Matagood drifted over toward Sam, who was floating aimlessly away from shore on Blockomir, though how either of them had come to be in such a situation, nobody could tell. Samwise himself looked ready to pass out from fear, so Matagood amused himself by staying just out of the hobbits reach and attempting to make small talk. This continued until the ridiculously unoriginal lake monster regained consciousness just long enough to scold Matagood for teasing the poor hobbit, and politely ask them both to get the heck out of its lake, unless they had some Tylenol on them. Kandalfi, meanwhile, was alternately whispering random Elvish words and the door and practising his ventriloquism act, attempting to conceal the fact that he had taken Matagood's suggestion.  
  
"Fenêtre," he said quietly at the door.  
  
"Con-sarnit Kandalfi, that's French, not Elvish!" Ash pointed out.  
  
"No, no, that's definitely Elvish," came a high, squeaky voice from Muldolas's general direction.  
  
Blockomir sat on the shore, still slightly damp, with a sign reading "Your lips moved, Kandalfi."  
  
"Did not," Obi-Grey protested.  
  
"Did too," said the rest of them in another show of incredibly contrived and consequently VERY BAD storytelling from certain incompetent authors.  
  
"How do you know French anyway?" asked Ash.  
  
"That's a very interesting story, you see—" and with that Kandalfi scampered off into the distance, never to be seen again until the next scene.  
  
"Good riddance," said Muldolas, obviously still suffering from temporary snippyitis, "now we won't have to do this Moria dealie."  
  
"And WHAT is wrong with Moria," demanded Scimli.  
  
"The words 'tomb-like caverns of death' DO come to mind," explained Muldolas.  
  
Scimli scoffed, and returned to carving her casefile into a large stone pyramid.  
  
"What's your goddamn problem?!" asked Matagood, struggling to fully deflate his raft, "why with the Moria-bashing, ya P*SSY?!"  
  
"It's because I'm an Elf." he explained.  
  
"A Nelf?" asked Mag.  
  
"Not a Nelf. An Elf."  
  
"Yeah. Nelf."  
  
"Stop that."  
  
"Nelf-o."  
  
"I hate you."  
  
Ash put a hand on Muldolas' shoulder, "Me and you, we're going to get along juuuust fine."  
  
"A Nelf, you say?" asked Scimli, roused briefly from her work.  
  
"Don't you start…" warned Muldolas.  
  
"Nelfy-Nelfy," said Scimli, flinching as Muldolas brandished his dangerously sharp ear-points at her.  
  
"Don't make me use these…"  
  
"Come back, Bill!" yelled Sam from somewhere vaguely to their left.  
  
"What th—" said Matagood, although he wasn't able to finish his undoubtedly spectacular utterance of profanity, on account of the landspeeder barrelling recklessly through their gathering, followed by a particularly distressed and out-of-breath Sam.  
  
For upon realizing that Scimli was capable of holding the Muldolas- harrassing post in her absence, Mag had crept off and built a large, rather impressive replica of George "Fluffy" Washington with which to torment Bill the Landspeeder. Having succeeded, she now sat giggling amid the paper- maché debris while her companions pursued Bill along the lakeshore. They returned, eventually, sans landspeeder, Matagood holding Sam under one arm in an attempt to restrain him. Then they re-gagged Magnolia with a scrap torn randomly from one of Blockomir's signs, the incomplete message now reading "You idiots! The password is:". Several minutes later, Mag swallowed the last of the gag, dabbed gently at the corner of her mouth with a section of Blockomir's forehead, and approached the Gates of Moria.  
  
"CANTALOUPE!" she cried, and the doors lurched open.  
  
They looked at her, amazed, then calmly walked into the mines of Moria, handing their jackets to the tuxedoed Balrog standing directly inside the entrance.  
  
"Get it?" she whispered to Ash, "mellon… melon?"  
  
"Choke and die, Mag." 


	7. They Might Be Hobbits

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NOTES: This one's long, kiddies. I wrote most of it while at a rehearsal for Brigadoon, though strangely there are no Scotland OR showtune references in the entire chapter. Hmm… I must remind myself to rectify that. Either way, I don't own the song "Whistling in the Dark" by They Might Be Giants, nor do I wish to, as it has become infinitely irritating to me since beginning this chapter. I suppose that's my own damn fault. Get it, though? They Might Be Hobbits? Get it???? Oh I'm so very not-funny.  
  
============================================================================ =  
  
"Whistling in the dark..." sang Magnolia cheerfully.  
  
"Gonna be pretty DAMN DIFFICULT to whistle with Blockomir shoved down your throat," growled Matagood.  
  
Had they not been wondering aimlessly in the oppressive blackness of the Mines of Moria, they might have witnessed a small cardboard sign propped against Blockomir's side, reading, "I feel as if I'm being treated as an object."  
  
"I just wish she knew more than one line," said Frodo.  
  
"Whistling in the dark..."  
  
"Or how to stay on key, for that matter," Scimli added.  
  
"Oh, you're one to talk, *Jeremiah*," said Muldolas, attempting to give her a knowing look despite the fact that he wasn't entirely sure where she was.  
  
"Quiet, you," she retorted, attempting to avoid his glance despite the fact that SHE wasn't entirely sure where HE was.  
  
"Kandalfi," said Muldolas, for the Wizard had spontaneously reappeared at the beginning of this chapter, "how are Scimli and I supposed to have an exclusive, silent conversation if we can't read the minute movements and colour shifts of each other's eyes?"  
  
"Indeed, some light WOULD be of use now," Frodo concurred.  
  
"What happened to the goddamn lightsaber?!" yelled Matagood.  
  
"The Balrog made me leave it at the coat check," Obi-Grey admitted dejectedly, "and anyway, what about Taturil?"  
  
"That's an interesting story, really. You see –" then Matagood stopped abruptly, and the sound of his sneakered feet could be heard pattering away in the darkness.  
  
"Little sh*t went and stole my ruse*," grumbled Kandalfi.  
  
"Where'd he get those sneakers, anyway?" asked Ash.  
  
============================================================================ =  
  
*Now, in this context, "stole my ruse" is meant to express the same thing as the phrase "stole my thunder". Don't ask why. I know this is entirely incorrect and inaccurate, but my friends and I tend to use it this way, and therefore Kandalfi must also do so. Same goes for later on in the story, when you'll see another reference to "ruse stealing". The management apologizes for the inconvenience.  
  
============================================================================ =  
  
"Whisstling in the dark..."  
  
"Mag..."  
  
"Wasn't me this time, I swear!" she protested.  
  
"Then who--?"  
  
"BONZAI!" screeched Gollum, leaping down from his perch atop Obi- Grey's head and somehow managing to set Magnolia on fire. He then squealed and scampered away, yelling "Ach! Sss! Why dids we do thats?! Now there ises nasssty red tongueses!"  
  
"Well, that was poorly planned," said Ash.  
  
"And how," agreed Sam, grinning sadistically at Sméagol's plight.  
  
"Um... I AM on fire again... I think," Mag pointed out calmly.  
  
"It's always about YOU, isn't it!?" raved Kandalfi, again performing Elrond's patented arm-flail.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Back in Rivendell, Elrond felt a disturbance in the ElForce.  
  
"I feel a disturbance in the ElForce," said he.  
  
"Evidently so," said Arwen, who was sitting nearby, idly watching Bilbo jump and curse as she held some pipe-weed just out of his reach.  
  
"I believe Kandalfi has engaged in an act of copyright infringement," mused Elrond.  
  
"You don't say," Arwen responded dully.  
  
"MY copyright, no less."  
  
"Well that was certainly inconsiderate of him."  
  
"Indeed. He's really one to talk about ruse stealing," Elrond scoffed, "I mean, that arm-flail dealie is rightfully mine!"  
  
"..."  
  
"And stop taunting that hobbit!"  
  
"Sorry."  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Meanwhile, back in the tomb-like caverns of death…  
  
"See?" said Muldolas, "Even the narrator agrees with my description of Moria."  
  
"Shush, Nelfit," retorted Scimli, delighted at the pout she got in response.  
  
The Fellowship was given a brief reprieve from their incessant bickering as they came to the Escalator of Khazad-dûm. There they were reunited with Matagood, whose shoelace had become entangled in the stair grooves, leaving him cycling continuously through the machinary and back for the better part of an hour. Needless to say, he was considerably less than amused when his companions dubbed him "Matagood the Stair-Faced". Initially, they refused to release him until he answered Kandalfi's previous question. Then, less than ten minutes into the descent, he unleashed his deadly Formerly Secret Weapon.  
  
"Whistling in the dark..."  
  
"Ruthless bastard…" muttered Obi-Grey  
  
"Whistling in the dark…" sang Matagood and Mag in ever-so-slightly less contrived unison.  
  
"Master, didn't Bilbo give you that nice, pointy sword back in Rivendell?" asked Sam in highly uncharacteristic though wholly justified irritation.  
  
"Well…" Frodo replied hesitantly.  
  
"Whistling in the dark…" Gollum had now joined Magnolia and Matagood, and the three of them were able to establish a fairly decent three-part harmony. Well, as decent as possibly when working with a tone-deaf hobbit and a twisted, psychotic creature with a notable speech impediment.  
  
"It's 'whistling', Sméagol, not 'whissstling'," coached Matagood patiently, earning a perplexed look from the rest of the Company.  
  
"I mean, uh… It's 'whistling', f*ckhead, not 'whissstling'," he swiftly corrected himself.  
  
Content, they then returned to covering their ears and randomly critisizing the trio. Kandalfi had somehow acquired a particularly impressive pair of fuzzy pink earmuffs, which both Magnolia and Gollum took to gnawing on between "performances".  
  
"Tasssty earmuffses," murmered Mag.  
  
"Hey! You stealsss our lineses!" hissed Gollum.  
  
"Where are all these random objects coming from?" asked Ash, who was promptly turned into a potato by certain authors who dislike being questioned by their own fictional characters.  
  
"Whistling in the dark…"  
  
"DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE!" screamed Sam, bounding toward them, brandishing Sting, as his own sword had also been claimed by the DoorBalrog.  
  
What Sam failed to anticipate was his own ridiculously horrible aim. Rather than dividing Matagood into dozens of convenient, bite-sized cubes as he had intended, Sam succeeded only in mauling the Dunedan's shoelace, thereby freeing him from the escalator groove. Matagood then booked it down the steps with Kandalfi in hot pursuit, the two of them eventually stumbling and rolling comically (though slightly painfully) down the remaining 800 steps. Meanwhile, Ash and Blockomir were conversing amiably using a set of battered cardboard signs.  
  
"Kill everyone?" read Blockomir's.  
  
"Please do," read Ash's. 


	8. No Ticky, No Cloaky

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NOTES: Sometimes truth can be stranger than fanfiction. Especially when one has recently spent an entire English class stroking a feather duster and calling it one's Precious. Yes folks, that would be me. Sadly, my English class is composed entirely of Dance class girls, so nobody got the reference. That and I had to give the feather duster back at the end of the block. How very disappointing.  
  
On another note, you HP fans might notice a Harry Potter reference in here. I dedicate it specifically to Tasha, who won't read this, but happens to be an HP addict and thus the inspiration for Ash's outburst. Why does *Ash* say it, you ask? Because his real life counterpart is ALSO an addict. In short, I'm surrounded.  
  
============================================================================ =  
  
"So..." read Blockomir's sign.  
  
"So..." read Ash's also.  
  
"Lookin' good."  
  
"I'm a potato, you idiot."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"But a GOOD-LOOKING potato."  
  
"Pipe down, you two," snapped Scimli, "I can hardly hear myself plot Muldolas' death!"  
  
"They're cardboard signs, you fool," Ash's now read.  
  
"How loud can they be?" asked Blockomir's.  
  
"I said QUIET! Don't make me brandish Nelf-boy's soon-to-be-amputated ear-points at you."  
  
"I feel I should be somewhat distressed by all this," mused Muldolas, sitting on a step and assuming a "thinker" pose.  
  
"And what have we learned from all this, Sam?" asked Frodo in a gentle, preschool-teacher-esque tone.  
  
"Um... 'If Elrond wants to put homicidal representatives of feuding races in your fellowship... just say NO'," Sam recited, suitably preschool- student-esque-ly.  
  
"Good lad."  
  
"Rather useful, these life lessons, aren't they Master."  
  
"And how, Sam. And how."  
  
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" read Ash's sign, for he was now being messily devoured by Gollum, while Mag donned a ridiculously oversized chef's hat and covered Blockomir with grated cheese.  
  
"Look, do you people realize the sheer VOLUME of paperwork involved every time I so much as DRAW this christly weapon?" Scimli growled, reaching immediately for said weapon and stalking up the steps.  
  
Her murderous advance on the sign-wielding potato-block duo was cut short as the Escalator came to an abrupt end, piling them all onto a narrow platform and effectively ending Mag and Sméagol's snack preparation. Being altogether exhausted and disgruntled, the Fellowship showed no sign of moving until Ash figured out how to de-potatofy himself and began making death threats. Meeting with only random, half-hearted obscenities from his more vocal companions, he then reverted to song-threats. This change in strategy paid off, inciting movement in all except Magnolia and Gollum, both of whom Ash bribed the author to turn into bright pink lawn flamingos.  
  
"Are you ever TACKY," read Blockomir's sign, only minutes into this new leg of their journey.  
  
"Ach! Sss!" read Gollum's.  
  
"Oh, look," said Frodo cheerfully, "There's Matagood and Kandalfi!"  
  
Indeed, they had at last overtaken the escapees. Matagood stood under an illuminated "Exit of Khazad-dûm" sign, attempting to free himself from a Chinese finger-trap. Kandalfi, meanwhile, was engaged in a peculiar game of tug-o-war with the same DoorBalrog they'd passed at the gates. The wizard appeared to be losing.  
  
"Dammit, just look at the label! It says quite clearly: Property of O- G Kandalfi!" he yelled.  
  
"No ticky, no cloaky," roared the Balrog, yanking on the "rope" held between the, which the other's now recognized as Kandalfi's heavy grey cloak.  
  
"I told you, Matagood the Stair-Faced ate my ticket!"  
  
At this Matagood glanced up long enough to give the Balrog a wide- eyed look of pure innocence, then returned to his struggles.  
  
"Trouble with the coat-check, Obi-Grey?" he asked sweetly, peering at his own ensnared digits.  
  
"Yes, and you damn well know it."  
  
"Let him keep it, Kandalfi," sighed Muldolas, "we'll get you another one in Lothlórien."  
  
"NEVER!" he cried, "I JUST HAD IT DRY- CLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee........."  
  
The Fellowship peered into the chasm, following the wailing wizard's rapid downward progression with idle interest. Minutes passed, and still he could be heard ee-ing in the distance. Scimli produced a bucket of popcorn and offered it to the company, all of whom politely declined on account of its distinct lack of butter. Muldolas muttered something about it being "un- Mirkwoodian", then they were again silent, save only Kandalfi's vowel repetition and Gollum's annoyingly heavy breathing.  
  
"Weren't you flamingo-fied?" asked Frodo.  
  
"Sssss. SSSSS!" hissed Gollum, neither willing nor sane enough to offer a coherent answer.  
  
"SMÉAGOL'S A PARSELMOUTH!!" screamed Ash, instantly foaming at the mouth and pointing wildly in Gollum's general direction.  
  
"..."  
  
"..."  
  
"..."  
  
"..."  
  
"..."  
  
"..."  
  
"..."  
  
"..."  
  
"....eeeeaned *thud*."  
  
"Right, then, Kandalfi's landed," said Matagood briskly, finally giving up on the finger-trap and exiting Moria with his fingertips still bound together.  
  
The others followed close behind, making sure to retrieve their cloaks from the Balrog-run coat check. As they ventured out into the sunlight their spirits rose and their talk become light and jovial once more. Well, except for that of Gollum who, upon realizing they meant to expose themselves to something as nasty and perilous as natural sunlight, proceeded to hurl himself into the abyss yelling "Wizzzzard! Waitss for Sméagol!" Muldolas, meanwhile, was all but spontaneously combusting with joy as he frolicked through the grass, completely ignoring his companions' repeated requests that he stop prancing like a ninny. A short distance away from the borders of Lothlórien, he retrieved Mag from Ashley's grasp and again frolicked away. They found him a short time later, looking towards the woods and striking a heroic-type pose.  
  
He then drove Mag's pink wire base into the ground and said, "Bring. It. On."  
  
Presently, the supposedly inanimate flamingo's plastic beak rounded on Muldolas, biting him in a particularly unpleasant Nelf-region. Minutes later, still rolling on the ground in Nelf-agony, spouting numerous Nelf- curses, he was able to read a large cardboard side leaning against Mag's base.  
  
"I win," it read. 


	9. Interludie: The Lothlori Inn (clever-er,...

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NOTES: This is a quick interlude-type dealie. Mostly, I want to thank Lachesis and Synia for reviewing this story, and say that Synia's comment is the only thing motivating me to keep this thing going. I've got a bit of writer's block now, so this is all there is until I get back on track. Enyoy, though… and maybe review? I PROMISE the next chapter will be longer.  
  
============================================================================  
  
"No, we don't have a reservation," sighed Muldolas, pinching the bridge of his ample nose in frustration.  
  
"I'm sorry, then, but Lothlórien's booked for the night," said Haldir apologetically, shaking his head.  
  
"Should have called ahead, f*cko," Matagood wagged a finger.  
  
"Alas," agreed Muldolas.  
  
"Why don't me and my AKS have a look at that reservation book, hmm?" Scimli suggested sweetly, ignoring the author's weak attempts at alliteration.  
  
"Er, um, oh look, there's still some talan-space left, let me go, er, prepare it for you," said Haldir hesitantly, backing away from the gun- toting she-dwarf.  
  
"Must we threaten the natives?" asked Frodo.  
  
"Indeed we must, dear hobbit-thingmie," replied Scimli, now gently petting her weapon.  
  
"Thigmies, are we?" Sam challenged, but his words were quickly forgotten as two dishevelled Nelves came tumbling from the branches above. One was obviously female, wrapped in bedsheets; the other was male, and clad only in mauve bunny-print boxers. Upon landing, they proceeded to vehemently shake their fist in the direction from whence they came, then after taking a quick glance in the fellowship's direction, scampered off into the woods muttering angrily in Nelvish. Moments later, Haldir returned, casually dusting off his hands.  
  
"All set," he proclaimed, "and if you'll kindly follow me…" 


	10. Of Inconsiderate Orcs and Celebrity Came...

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NOTES: We had sushi for dinner tonight, which just happens to be my favourite food. It also meant a large part of the meal consisted of raw fish. Long story short, it made for a VERY, VERY good opportunity for Gollum impressions. "Fisheses…. tassty fishesess". Etc. I love my life.  
  
ANOTHER INANE FOOD-RELATED NOTE: Poutine, for those who know not, is a combination of fries, gravy and cheese curds. McPoutine is a version of this delicacy served at McDonalds. Only in this fine country of Canada can one find such culinary delights. *Beams with some amount of national pride*.  
  
Oh, and I have nothing against David Spade. He's just very, very amusing to toy with. AND last, but light-years away from least, I'd like to thank Lady Serpentine for her ridiculously encouraging review. Yours is the stuff that's keeping me in business g.  
  
============================================================================  
  
Later that night, Frodo was awakened by a commotion on the ground below.  
  
"What was that?" he asked, sitting up swiftly and, in the process, hitting his head on an inconveniently-placed branch.  
  
"Well, my recently unconscious friend, that would be the sound of twelve ka-zillion or so orcs sleepwalking through the borders of Lothlórien," replied Muldolas, peering into the darkness using Taturil as a flashlight.  
  
"That's odd," mused Scimli.  
  
"Not really. Orcs are known for their tendency to sleepwalk, as well as their murderous instincts and highly developed basket-weaving skills."  
  
"No, no, I mean it's odd because I implicitly recall putting the doorknob-hanger 'Do Not Serve Mordor Within One-League Radius' –side out earlier this evening."  
  
"Orcs these days," said the Nelf, shaking his head in disapproval.  
  
"Where the heck did you find a doorknob, anyway?" asked Ash, suitably perplexed.  
  
"Now, now, Mr. Ashlin. You remember what happened last time you questioned the random appearance of out-of-place objects," Sam warned.  
  
Ash shuddered and was silent, thinking he could never again bring himself to eat another potato. He soon forgot his fear as his attention was drawn to Matagood, who was trying to coax Mag into biting off the finger- trap he still hadn't managed to free himself from. He seemed to be using a combination of charades and morse code which, when combined thusly, gave his actions an appearance akin to those of an enraged, beeping ostrich. Sam, upon finding the courage to point out Matagood's failure to match bird species, was promptly thrown off the talan by the rather surly Ranger. Moments later, Frodo regained consciousness, not noticing the novelty Hitler-style moustache the fellowship had attached to his face while he slept.  
  
"'Morning," he said cheerfully, not noticing his companions' various snorts and snickers.  
  
"Heil!" yelled Matagood, attempting to salute him in the appropriate fashion – failing, of course, due to that ever-present finger-trap-shaped obstacle.  
  
"Erm, uh, right… hey, where's Sam got to?"  
  
"Well, that's really an interesting story, you see—" Matagood began, effectively running the joke into the ground. However, he didn't get very far in his retreat, as the talan they stood on had an area of less than six square metres, and after two spectacular strides he went tumbling off the edge.  
  
"O hello Mr. Matagood! Fancy meeting you down here," Sam's voice drifted up from below, and the Dunedan's grumbling voice could be heard cursing him in response.  
  
"That'll teach the ruse-stealer," read the sign lying against Mag's pink plastic side.  
  
"ZZZ," read Blockomir's, as he had since acquired Kandalfi's impressively fuzzy earmuffs, and in this way managed to sleep through the entire ordeal.  
  
Just then, a strange voice could be heard below, slowly but surely approaching the company's flet.  
  
"Precioussss," it hissed, climbing ever up the tall Mallorn tree, "we wantsess it. Sssssss…"  
  
"I know that voice," whispered Ash, "it's –"  
  
"Hey," snapped Scimli, attempting to gag him using a corner of Blockomir's head-ish region, "you've had your obligatory Harry Potter reference already, dammit."  
  
"Actually, I was going to say it's –"  
  
"AAAAAAA! WHAT IS THAT THING!?" screamed Frodo, vainly attempting to hide within Muldolas' perfectly sculpted season five hair.  
  
"It's…….. David Spade?"  
  
The vertically challenged "Just Shoot Me" star just stared at them intently, as they stared back, intrigued. Well, all except Frodo, who was all but pantsless with terror. Apparently he had a strange aversion to blonde, perpetually puppy-dog-faced comedians who were only slighter taller than he was.  
  
"Preciouss?" Spade hissed, looking at them inquisitively.  
  
"What the heck is David Spade doing here?" asked Ash, cringing against the author's seemingly imminent show of displeasure. Unfortunately for readers and insolent characters alike, it never came, as said author had briefly gone for McPoutine and thus unwisely left her plotline unattended.  
  
"Nobody loveses me," whined Spade, his lower lip trembling. He then turned and scrambled hastily down the tree, sniffling and muttering mediocre one-liners to himself all the while.  
  
"Well, that was mind-bogglingly inane," said Scimli.  
  
"And how," Muldulas concurred, "see, I assumed it was that Gollum- dealie, what with the speech impediment and such."  
  
"I do believe you have underestimated me, good sir," came a low, cultured voice from a corner of the talan. Looking toward its source, they found Gollum sitting in a plush leather chair, wearing a quilted red robe and daintily drinking tea by a fireplace.  
  
"Didn't you leap into the abyss back in chapter eight?" asked Ash.  
  
"So I would have you believe…" said Sméagol cryptically, raising an eyebrow and stroking his non-existent beard.  
  
"…" said the Fellowship, beyond aghast, then:  
  
"WHAT THE F*CK IS DAVID SPADE DOING HERE?!"  
  
And that, my friends, is the story of how David Spade got hacked to pieces by an irritable Ranger in the formerly peaceful woods of Lothlórien. 


	11. Song of a Nelfwich

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NOTES: I am horrified to admit that the "Nelfwich" exchange DID, in fact, occur, except it was "Elfwich", and it occurred directly after Gimli's line in the movie. Almost as good as the second time I saw it, when some guy yelled "HEY! IT'S THE ROCK!" during the scene where Saruman converses with the Uruk-hai. Or the third time, when we spent most of the movie making random Nazi references. "Ash" and I are horribly, horrible people.  
  
OTHER OTHER NOTE: I wrote this in Math class. I seem to write best when I'm supposed to be doing something else. Go figure.  
  
============================================================================  
  
The next day, the fellowship managed to pry Frodo out of Muldolas' hair and left their talan in search of the Lady Galadriel (making sure, of course, to leave a suitable mess behind for the maid to deal with). They arrived in the late morning at a reception desk, looking somewhat out-of- place amid the natury-dealies of the Golden Wood. At the receptionist's request, they signed in and took a number, then sat down and swayed quietly to the soft muzak being inexplicably piped into the air around them. Three days later, Frodo thought to ask why they were being made to wait, seeing as they appeared to be the only clients present.  
  
"Oh, look, a three-foot-tall sitcom character with a bleach kit," said the receptionist casually, sending the hobbit screaming into the woods.  
  
Matagood snickered, and was promptly hit over the head by a pear – thrown, of course, by the ever-faithful and increasingly hostile Samwise Gamgee. Wishing to avoid the Dunedan's wrath, Sam then set his elaborately- arranged fruit bowl down on Blockomir's face and stood there whistling with his hands behind his back. It was the picture of innocence, or at least it would have been, had Blockomir not discreetly written the words "Pear- Throwing Git" on Sam's forehead.  
  
"The Nelf Witch will see you know," droned the receptionist, just as Matagood's finger-trap-ensnared hands closed around Sam's neck.  
  
"Hee hee. Nelf Witch," Magnolia's sign now read.  
  
"What now?" sighed Ash, thoroughly regretting his ability to read.  
  
"Nelfwich. Like… sandwich. Or Dwarfwich."  
  
"Clever, Mag."  
  
"Rye or white?"  
  
"I hate you, Mag."  
  
"Oh for the love of – what have you people done to yourselves?" asked an incredulous and eerily familiar voice as they entered.  
  
"… Elrond?" Frodo squinted at the Nelf, having recently returned from his screaming circuit of Lothlórien.  
  
For it was indeed Elrond HalfNelven, inexplicably attired in a flowing white dress and long blonde wig. He sat beside Celeborn, who looked like he was trying to get as far away from "Galadriel" as possible without actually leaving his own seat.  
  
"I leave you people alone for a few chapters and you can't even avoid being turned into humorous lawn decorations," sighed Elrond in disgust.  
  
"In our defence, it WAS entirely Ash's fault," read the sign at Mag's side.  
  
"Bad flamingo," said Ash, repeatedly whacking Blockomir against Mag's black plastic beak, "bad, bad, bad flamingo."  
  
"I suppose I'm going to have to clean up this mess," Elrond grumbled, adjusting his wig and glaring briefly at the author. Said author merely shrugged and continued to consume her precious McPoutine.  
  
"Doubtless," Ash concurred, "but I have to ask… why with the white flowing dress, Elrond?"  
  
"That's 'Galadrielrond' to you, mister. And I'm wearing a white flowing dress because my pink flowing dress is being dry-cleaned."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"That all?"  
  
"Just about, yeah."  
  
"Right, then," Galadrielrond continued, rubbing his hands together eagerly, "By the power invested in me by the travelling circus folk of Middle-Earth, I now pronounce Magnoliadoc Brandygrey officially un-Flamingo- fied."  
  
There was a loud "ka-poof", and when the smoke and several layers of debris cleared, Mag sat on the floor with a cardboard sign reading "woo"… which Ash promptly grabbed, using it to repeatedly strike her upside the head.  
  
"You can talk now, you weenie," he said, tossing the sign behind him and unwittingly into Sam's forehead.  
  
"Well that about wraps it up," said Elrond cheerfully, "now take these complimentary works of priceless Nelven art and get the heck out of my forest. I'm expecting guests."  
  
A large, heavy bundle then dropped onto the Fellowship from above, just as a trap door opened beneath their feet, sending them squeaking toward the ground, several hundred feet below. They survived thanks to Blockomir, whose springy foam body was crushed to the approximate thickness of a slice of pickled ginger as it broke his companions' fall. He was thus renamed Pickledgingermir, and treated with grace and respect for the better part of an hour. In that time the company was able to find their way to the Anduin and hijack a set of Elven boats, interrupted only once as Elrond crept by with the Mirror of Galadriel, giggling "Hee hee, punch bowl."  
  
"And now, a song for our dear departed friend, Obi-Grey Kandalfi," announced Frodo as they prepared to launch the boats.  
  
"Oh do tell us, master," urged Sam as he donned an oversized motorcycle helmet and seventeen or so flotation devices.  
  
Tears welling in his eyes, Frodo stood tall and sang:  
  
"Once upon a time  
  
There was a little sausage  
  
Named Kandalfi,  
  
And he lived happily ever after.  
  
The end."  
  
"…" said the Fellowship.  
  
"It was beautiful, Mr. Frodo," said Sam, who then burst into tears and wasn't allowed into the boats until he stopped, as they were afraid he would flood one and sink it.  
  
"Don't quit your day job, Frodo," advised Muldolas, and they then set out down the river, full of an emotion that might have been joy, but was most likely only mild indigestion. 


	12. Row, Row, Row Your Boat...

============================================================================  
  
NOTES: First of all, the "fish tackle" gag is the property of Ash's real- life counterpart, whose name I am still reluctant to mention here (why, I do not know). So all the credit goes to him… I just couldn't resist using it, what with them being on the Anduin and all. ALSO: The song Sam sings is from Brigadoon, a ridiculously sappy musical, the chorus of which I am currently a part of. Hence the inclusion of it in this chapter… which, incidentally, was written during a rehearsal.  
  
Once again, I'd like to thank Lady Serpentine for reviewing this little piece of inanity. Yes, inanity. Serpentine, this is for you: qwertyuiop[]asdfghjkl;'zxcvbnm,./. Enyoy.  
  
============================================================================  
  
For many days they were swept along by the swift current of the river Aduin. Sam was systematically divested of his various floatation devices as his companions sought new objects with which to test their recently acquired mini-catapult. They intended to use the contraption to throw random objects at Gollum, who kept on sneaking up behind their boats and attaching his water-ski line. Secretly, though, Matagood hoped he would be able to use it to launch Mag into oblivion, as he had been unfortunate enough to receive her as his boating partner.  
  
"Oh, look, there's a set of large, rutabaga-flavoured dice lying at the bottom of the river bed," he said nonchalantly, glancing over the side of the boat.  
  
"Really? Ah-zah! Mag's eatin' tonight! I – hey, wait a minute… I'm not falling for THAT one, El Ranger-o," said Mag, pointing at him and squinting in an attempted glare.  
  
"[Aside] Damn. She did every OTHER goddamn time."  
  
"Good point."  
  
"Hey," Matagood protested, "that was an 'aside'. You're not supposed to respond to it, f*cko!"  
  
"Is there any way you could curb your homicidal tendencies for even a few christly hours? We've already had to turn around and fish Mag out of the River three times!" growled Scimli, shaking her fist at the unnecessarily cynical King-to-be.  
  
"And I'm not sure Sam appreciated us painting dots on him and using him as 'fish' tackle," Frodo added, glancing over at his companion, who was sitting stock-still in the middle of the boat humming various showtunes.  
  
"Speaking of which," said Ash, and he proceeded to scoop a fair-sized trout out of the water and throw it at Magnolia's head.  
  
"Con-sarnit, Ash! What in the name of Sam Raimi was THAT for?" she yelled, nearly overbalancing and toppling into the water.  
  
"It was…" he paused for forty-two minutes of excessive dramatic effect, "… A FISH TACKLE!! AHAHAHAHA! A-HARHARHARHAR!! GET IT? CAN YOU *FEEL* THE HILARITY?!"  
  
"Good Lord, the boy's out of his nut," observed Muldolas, aghast.  
  
"Ash, you've… you've…" stammered Frodo, slightly more aghast.  
  
"HE'S PULLED A 'MAG'!" shouted Matagood, frantically removing fistfuls of hair from his own scalp, "AN EVERF*CKING MAG!!!"  
  
"I'm so proud," said Mag, sniffling pointedly.  
  
"Kill me please, o merciful block-dealie," Ash begged Pickledgingermir, who merely stared back in his own state of extreme aghastness.  
  
"…onnce inn the highlaaaands, the hiiiighlands of Scotlaaa-aand…" sang Sam quietly, now rocking slowly back and forth in time to the music.  
  
"It's okay, Sam. You're going to be o-kay," Frodo murmured soothingly, "just… calm down a little, maybe. You can do it, I know you can. Be the ball, Sam. Be the ball."  
  
"… when twooooo weary hunterrrr – well, would you look at that," said Sam, snapping out of his one-man musical and looking strangely at his own hands.  
  
"What is it, Sam?" asked Frodo.  
  
"Well master, it appears as if I've turned into a giant ball."  
  
"…"  
  
"Mr. Frodo, sir?"  
  
"Oh, look, Sam. There's an amiable wood-nelf sitting in the cup of that mini-catapult over yonder," said Frodo, rubbing distractedly at his temples.  
  
"Nelves? Oh, master, I'd dearly love to see NELVES," sighed Sam, ignoring the fact that he'd spent the last several irrational plot-twists with Muldolas, not to mention that lovable, cross-dressing "Galadrielrond".  
  
As Sam set foot inside the unreasonably large catapult-cup, Frodo took the liberty of setting it off, intending to launch the hobbit into oblivion. Instead, their crippling inability to follow instructions lead them to build the contraptions somewhat… backwards. Thus, as Frodo depressed the unnecessarily large "toss" button, Sam was thrown backwards into him, and together they went flying off the back end of their boat. Gollum, meanwhile, had succeeded in his task during their extended bickering, and was now happily water-skiing behind. That is, until Frodo and Sam came barrelling into him, and before they knew it they had established a fairly impressive three-person reverse pyramid, with Sméagol supporting a hobbit on each shoulder.  
  
"Get offss us!" yelled Gollum, wobbling beneath even their meager weight.  
  
"Why I aughta – AAAAAAAAAA!!!!!" Sam screamed, leaving his sentence frustratingly incomplete.  
  
"Yous aughta 'AAA'? Hobbitses makes no sensse, they doesn't," said Gollum, scratching his head in obvious confusion.  
  
"BIG GIANT WATERFALL DEALIE!" Sam continued, his eyes bugging out comically.  
  
"Ah," said Gollum. 


	13. The Death Of Pickledgingermir (and Other...

============================================================================  
  
NOTES: C'est fini!! For now, that is. As with any 'good' production, the creator feels the pressing urge to butcher it with a sequel or seven. Not just now… but soon. You wait, oh you just wait.  
  
For the record, Ash's real-life counterpart actually wants to try the cookie-dough ice cream thing. Feel free to send him death-threats… I know I will.  
  
Big giant special chocolate thanks to Lady Serpentine! She of the multiple reviews, without whom I most likely would never have completed this epically inane tale. Thankee-sai! A ka-zillion times thankee! And the McPoutine is on me.  
  
============================================================================  
  
When we last saw our heroes, Frodo, Sam and Gollum were progressing rapidly toward a Big Giant Special Chocolate Waterfall of Imminent Demise… otherwise known as Rauros.  
  
"Well guesseses what? We isses still doing thatss," said Gollum.  
  
"Who are you talking to, Sméagol?" asked Frodo.  
  
"We, er… ah… CURSSE THE BAGGINSS!"  
  
"AAA!" screamed Sam.  
  
"What th – AAAA!" screamed Frodo.  
  
"AAAAAAAA… seses," screamed Gollum.  
  
And, somewhat anticlimactically, they all toppled over the edge.  
  
"Wow," said Ash, "that was worse than the time I tried to make cookies by baking cookie dough ice cream."  
  
"Just once, could this god-forsaken fellowship's analogies make SENSE?!" Scimli demanded, hanging her head in shame.  
  
"I wouldn't count on it," Ash replied.  
  
There then came a faint splashing sound from far below, followed by Sam's voice yelling, "We're okay! Really!"  
  
"You heard the hobbit. Now GIT," said Matagood, pointing toward the Western shore.  
  
They engaged in a communal shrug, then followed his "command", paddling toward the wooded land at the water's edge. At some point, they realized Muldolas and Scimli were still moving in ever-decreasing circles in the middle of the lake, as neither of them was willing to paddle on the opposite side of the boat. Matagood, focussing all his attention on effectively giving them the finger, failed to notice he was standing on Pickledgingermir's already-trampled face. Pickledgingermir, in an uncharacteristic moment of entirely justified insolence, giggled to himself and promptly tossed Matagood overboard. Wishing to avoid the Dunedan's wrath – not to mention his lightsaber – they then frantically paddled toward shore, ignoring the continuous string of profanity being hurled at them from behind.  
  
"Since when can YOU giggle?" asked Ash, bugging out his left eye in an attempted eyebrow-raise.  
  
"I can also make balloon animals, if you like," read a footprint- riddled sign at Pickledgingermir's side.  
  
"*YOU'RE* A BALLOON ANIMAL! BLEAH!" screeched Mag, grabbing Pickledgingermir and pressing her face against his.  
  
"Mayber later, Mr. Foam-dealie, sir," said Ash politely, calmly pushing Mag out of the boat.  
  
"Hah! I win!" yelled Mag triumphantly, as the water she had fallen into was less than half a metre deep, and ridiculously close to the shore.  
  
"Con-sarnit Mag! Don't you ever die?!"  
  
In response, his companion merely tilted her head back, laughed maniacally for a good three minutes, then ran giggling into woods.  
  
"Would you people KINDLY keep the giggling to a minimum?" asked Elrond, who was now standing at the water's edge covered in potato-sack material and shoepolish.  
  
"And what the heck are YOU doing here, Elrond?" ask Ash in his seemingly perpetual state of incredulity.  
  
"That's 'Elrorc' to you, mister. And I'm here to poke a few holes in the block-thingmie and haul off your hobbits to some unknown end."  
  
"…"  
  
"Look, no one showed up at the auditions, okay?"  
  
"There were auditions?" read Pickledgingermir's sign.  
  
"HIIIIII-YAH!!" screamed Matagood, charging at Elrond with Taturil raised above his head.  
  
"Whoops, gotta run. Stay off the pipe-weed, kiddies," said "Elrorc", who then scampered off into the trees with Matagood at his heels. Seconds later, the sounds of a brief scuffle could be heard, followed by Elrond squealing something along the lines of "NO! NOT THE HAIR! ANYTHING BUT THE HAIR!". Then all was silent save the quiet buzzing of a set of battery- powered shears Matagood had somehow managed to procure.  
  
"Well, looks like it's just you and me, Pickledginger-o," concluded Ash, hopping out of the stolen Nelf-boat.  
  
"…" said Pickledgingermir.  
  
"What's that? You say you want the ring?" asked Ash, ignoring the fact that he himself did not possess said piece of jewellery.  
  
"…"  
  
"Y… you can't have it! Don't you know it will turn you to evil?! Make you into a Dark Lord-o with murderous tendencies and a penchant for collectable ceramic wiener dogs?"  
  
"…"  
  
"NOOOO!" screamed Ash, leaping off into the woods as numerous ridiculous characters before him had done.  
  
"Putz," thought Pickledgingermir, still lying completely silent at the water's edge.  
  
Later he came across Mag and Ash, both of whom had managed to clothesline themselves on a low-hanging branch, and now lay side by side on the ground. Pickledgingermir sat there, throwing profanity-covered cardboard signs at them until they came to – at which point they stood up and immediately clotheslined themselves again, though this time not hard enough to knock them unconscious.  
  
"Ouchie," said Mag.  
  
"Once again, this is ENTIRELY your fault," accused Ash.  
  
"RAWR," growled the Giant Carnivorous Middle-Earth Risk Board of Mass Destruction, previously featured in the early chapters of this adventure in inanity.  
  
"AAA!" yelled Mag.  
  
"AAA!" yelled Ash.  
  
"Wee. I save thee," read a sign by Pickledgingermir, who was promptly hit by seventy-three orc-arrows, twelve or so cream pies, a wayward atomic bomb and the pigeon from chapter two.  
  
"Some help YOU are," scoffed Mag.  
  
"AAAAAIIIIIIEEEEEEE!" screamed Ash, hitting an impressively high note in his second demonstration of either vortex-induced testosterone depletion or simply his own undeniable femininity.  
  
And, once again, it came to pass that the two geekiest people in existence were eaten by their own Risk board. Thus did the ridiculousness take a temporary hiatus before returning in any number of soon-to-be- existent sequels. And may god have mercy on us all.  
  
EL END-DEALIE 


End file.
